


Miscellaneous (Gen)

by Maculategiraffe



Series: How Life Goes On, The Way It Does [11]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Crying, Family Feels, Friendship, Game Spoilers, Gen, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maculategiraffe/pseuds/Maculategiraffe
Summary: OK guys, this is tentatively how I'm going to be organizing Ficlets Posted In This Universe, often in response to reader questions or prompts, instead of posting them as individual stories and ending up with one million one-chapter fics.  This collection in particular is for stories set in this universe-- whenever and wherever-- that aren't focused on romance or pairings.  If you have an idea or a prompt for this collection-- if you want to know how something went down in Nora's past that's been alluded to but not shown, or you want to know what's up with a character we haven't seen much of, or something like that-- let me know in a comment or on tumblr (maculategiraffe at) and I'll see what I can do ya for.Rated M for language, because, uh, I don't know if you guys have noticed but I cuss a lot





	1. someone singing my life back to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Nora left things with some of the companions who’ve featured less prominently, or not at all, in the main story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Neko Case and her Boyfriends, “Guided By Wire”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zn6MCP7jjqk))

“Thanks for everything, Codsworth,” I said, and burst into tears.

Codsworth whirred with distress.  “Oh, Miss Nora, I implore you, don’t cry!  I’ll be more than happy to continue accompanying you on your travels, for as long as you find me at all useful!”

I shook my head, sniffing, trying to pull myself together.  Wiped my face on my sleeve.

“Please, mum,” said Codsworth, and produced a red bandanna from one of his storage pouches, proffering it with a delicate pincer-hand.  He’d always been unbelievably dexterous.  I remembered the first time I’d watched him change Shaun’s diaper, goggling in disbelief.

I mopped my face obediently with the bandanna, and gave him a watery smile.

“I can’t ever thank you enough,” I told him hoarsely.  “For everything.  For staying here all this time, and being here for me when I got home, and everything you’ve done for me– but now that Sanctuary’s thriving again, this is where you belong.  At home.  Not out on the road with a– vagabond.”

“But I belong to _you,_ Miss Nora,” said Codsworth, his tinny voice sounding bewildered and hurt.  “Master Nathanael registered me in both your names at time of purchase, and now–”

“But he bought you for our home,” I said.  “To take care of our home.  And you’ve done such an amazing job, while we were gone.  And now– it’s not just our house I need you to take care of, it’s– all of Sanctuary.  All these people, they’ve never had anything as– as amazing as you, to help look after them.  Not just housework, either– I had no idea you were such a badass fighter, and it’s so great, and–”

I wiped my eyes again, on the damp bandanna, and cleared my throat, and said, “Codsworth, it’s not like it was before, you know?  It’s not as easy as it was, when Nate first bought you.  We can’t just– each look after our own house, any more.  We all have to share with each other, and fight for each other, and take care of each other.  And part of that is– you being– not just for me, any more.  You belong to Sanctuary, now.”  I smiled at him.  “And to yourself.”

He was silent for a little, and then he said, “Very well, mum.  I shall do my utmost to– maintain– home.  To the appropriate standards.  By all the means at my disposal.“  

"I know you will, buddy,” I said.  "I’m gonna do my best, too.“

…………………………

“So you’re ditching me.”

There wasn’t any real hurt in her voice, I didn’t think– I’d heard what her voice sounded like when something flicked on the raw– but there was an ask there.  She needed me to help her be OK with this, or be OK with being OK with this.

“Cait.”  I reached out, making sure I telegraphed my intention to touch her, gave her that little moment to adjust, and to shy away if she needed to.  She didn’t, so I cupped her lean, bare shoulder gently with my hand, and squeezed it lightly.  “You’ve been on your own for– forever.  And traveling with me, on the road all the time, and getting in all these fights– don’t get me wrong, it’s great for _me_ , that you’ve got my back, but– it’s not right, not for you, not anymore.  You deserve a home.  A place to settle down.  A family that loves you.”

She glared at me.  “So I deserve all that, and you don’t?”

I swallowed.  “I– you know– I’m still figuring all that out.  But you’ve fought through so much, and now you’re clean, and– you deserve some peace.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with peace,” said Cait.

I smiled at her.  “Well, I mean, it’s still the post-apocalypse.  It’s not like there’s going to be a shortage of raiders and ferals and super mutants thinking it’s smart to fuck with the Abernathy family.  That’s the other reason I like the idea of you staying here.  I can’t always be here, and– the Abernathys, they’re so brave, and they’ve already lost one daughter, and– Lucy misses her sister, you know?  And you know she looks up to you.”

“Looks _up_ to _me?”_  Cait scoffed.  “She’s got a better head on her shoulders than that.”

“Cait, if a person’s gotta be dumb to admire you, then I’m dumb, too.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me,” said Cait, but she was smiling, a little bit.  “So I’m to be the new Abernathy girl.”

“I think you like that idea,” I said.  “And– you know they love you.  How brave you are, and how strong, and how far you’ve come.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’ll be all right,” I said.  “You’ve taught me a lot, you know?”

She scoffed, and then she lunged into my arms, awkwardly and violently– she still approached hugs like they were fistfights minus fists– and wrapped her sinewy arms around me.  I put my arms around her and hugged her back, tight.

“I love you, Cait,” I said.  “You know that, right?”

“I love you too, you daft old cow,” she said.  “And I hope you find your baby.”

…………………………

“I hate this fu– freaking overpass, though,” said Macready, looking up and squinting irritably.  

“Really?” I asked.  “I fucking love it.  I like thinking about how parts of it are littered with the corpses of people who thought they were gonna fuck with my friend.”

He grinned at me.  “Language, boss.  You need to get in better habits.  Or what’s gonna happen when you find your kid?”

“If swear words are all I’ve got to worry about my kid learning, I’m gonna count myself lucky,” I said.  “You, on the other hand– you _know_ where your kid is.  You just gotta bring him home.  And this is home.  Abraham and Abigail love you, and Jake and Daniel think you’re a fucking badass.  Which you are.  And you can protect them, if any more raiders– or Gunners– come sniffing around.  And Duncan gets to grow up safe, with his dad, and a real home.”

“I still owe you, though,” he said seriously.  “Big time.”

I smiled.  “Then pay me back by being happy, and blowing the head off anybody who messes with this farm.  Save the general a trip to rescue all your dumb asses.”

“OK,” said Macready.  "I can take a hint.”

“Good.”  I smiled at him.  “Hug?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, and hugged me.  

……………………………

“Have I offended you in some way, madame?”

“No, sweetheart,” I said, taking her hand in mine.  She squeezed mine back immediately, but she still looked unhappy.  “God, no.  You’re amazing.  It’s completely my own problem.  Problems.”

“What are the problems?” Curie asked plaintively.  “If you will tell me, madame, we can work together to solve them.”

“But that’s the thing,” I said.  “They’re not your problems.  They’re great things about you.  Like your badass new body.  I’m so happy you’ve got it, but it’s–”  I held onto her little hand.  “It’s my daughter’s body.  And you’re– not my daughter.”

She considered that gravely.  

“Am I to you an obscenity?” she asked finally, in a small voice.  “Like a– a reanimated corpse?”

“No!”  I held her hand harder.  “No, Curie, no, it’s not like that.  It just makes me _sad._  Thinking about G5-19, and what happened to her.  That I never got to know her.  That she– she trusted the Railroad, and they– we– killed her–”

My throat tightened.  Curie looked distressed.  

“I’m so happy you’re in her body, now, though, honey,” I said, and lifted her hand impulsively to my lips.  “I’m so glad it’s alive again, and not just– being tended, like a grave.  And I’m so happy you get a chance to experience life in a body, like this.  And– but the other thing is, you’re so brave, and that’s great, but it’s stressing me the hell out, taking you into all these dangerous situations.  I’m terrified every time we get in a fight, that I’m going to have to watch you– die– or even get hurt–  And, see, that’s not your problem, either.  You get to be brave.  You get to risk your life.  It’s your life.  It’s just my problem, it’s just– too much for me, right now, what with– everything.  I’m sorry, Curie, I love you, I really do, I just– I just can’t right now.”

She nodded.  She looked more pensive than sad, now.

“To whom will you go, madame?” she asked, after a moment.  

I hadn’t really thought about that.  Everybody I knew well enough to travel with was sort of– settled.  Except Deacon, and I needed some time away from the Railroad, right now.

“Maybe I’ll just be a lone wanderer for awhile,” I said.  “Take some time.  Process some stuff.”

She shook her head.  

“Pardon me, madame,” she said, “but I think that would not be wise.”

“How come?” I asked, and, joking, “You don’t think I can take care of myself?”

She shook her head gravely.  "Physically, yes, madame– you are a skilled fighter and a– tough customer?“

I grinned at her.   She smiled back, then sobered.

"I was alone for a very long time, before you found me,” she said.  "It was not a pleasure to me, but it was not a– deprivation?  As it would be, now.  I had no need to eat and to drink, and no need, also, to be with.  To be together.  Not to be alone.“

I nodded.  "Is it different, now?”

“I think it is different for… bodied… people,” she said.  "Embodied?“

"Yeah, maybe,” I said.  "Well, I’ll figure something out.“

She said, "When you so kindly took me to Goodneighbor, to help me to this body, monsieur le maire Hancock seemed– very– solicitous?  Worried, of your well-being.”

“Yeah, he’s–”  I could feel myself blushing.  "I– but we agreed to take some time apart, to figure some stuff out.“

"You have taken time apart,” said Curie.  "All the time I have been with you, yes?  Have you not, now, figured stuff out?“

"Not everything,” I said.

She nodded.  "Then perhaps the remaining stuff is not best figured out by being apart.“

"Yeah,” I said.  "Maybe.  OK, Curie.  I’ll take it under advisement.  Thanks.“

"You are most welcome, madame.”

…………………………………..

“Yeah, good luck with that whole… milk… thing.”


	2. feels like I'm all the way back where I belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place back at the Castle, during the events of Refreshment. Spoilers through the end of Renascence.

 

Emily remembers.

There are things she doesn’t talk about much, not even with her mother, or Kasumi, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t remember.

She doesn’t know why she’s remembering this particular thing right now, so vividly.  In reality, in the present, she’s curled on one of the library couches with Kasumi.  They’re almost the same size, but Emily’s a little bit bigger– an inch and a half taller, her limbs thicker and stronger than Kasumi’s, her hips and breasts a little bit fuller– which is one of the many things she loves about Kasumi.  Emily gets to be the bigger one, when she’s smaller than almost everybody.  Except Shaun, who’s fallen asleep on the couch opposite, head pillowed on Max’s thigh, Max’s brown hand resting lightly on his back.

Kasumi doesn’t mind being smaller.  She’s an only child, so she doesn’t have a lot of big strong brothers to feel towered over by, and she’s human, so she inherited her size and shape directly from her parents.  When Emily lived with them, she kept staring at the three of them, marvelling at the mixture of Rei and Kenji in Kasumi’s face.  It made her wish she could have known her father, the one who died long before her creation, when Father was just a tiny baby.  Shaun must look partly like him.  She’d like to see how.

Emily’s warm and happy, with her Kasumi in her arms, her beautiful girl, who kissed her first by the water in the Diamond City moonlight, and her family all around.  Cog and Victoria, the twins– she thinks of them as the twins, because they came as a set and because they’re inseparable, and speak a giddy shared private language sometimes, like the Thompson twins did– Victoria on the couch beside Max and Shaun, Cog on the floor at her feet, head leant against her knee.  In one comfortable armchair, Leah– dear Leah, Emily’s heart swells with joy to have her safe here– hands folded quietly in her lap, her stillness seeming practiced, like a courser’s.  Tom in another chair, knees drawn up to his chin, heavy shoes dirtying and possibly tearing the upholstery, but no one’s inclined to reprove him, not even Victoria.

Desdemona’s in one corner of the third couch, perpendicular to the others.  Both of the ex-Railroad humans are looking a lot better already than they did when they arrived.  Dee’s been looking after them, making sure they eat and drink, making sure they rest, but coaxing them, too, to get a little exercise and sunshine and fresh air every day.  Mothering them.  

Elizabeth is in the other corner of the third couch, watching Dee, who’s between her and Desdemona, bent over the book he’s reading aloud.

They’re still working on _The Wind in the Willows_ , but now that Shaun’s asleep, they’ve switched over to their grown-up book, one their mother picked out herself at the library, called _Silas Marner._  Emily’s not really listening to the words, just to the cadence of the sentences, Dee’s voice.  This is the first time he’s ever agreed to read for them, and he has a great voice, as Emily knew he would.  Smooth, fluent, expressive.  He does the voices, too.

Emily’s aware of all this, blissfully aware, but she’s also remembering darkness.

Darkness, with a line of light visible, where the door of the room where she’s been stored doesn’t quite meet the floor.  She’s on her knees, her thin cotton dress providing almost no protection from the cold, hard, filthy concrete.  Her hands are tied behind her back.  Her leg hurts, where she got bitten by that creature.  So does her face, where the raider slapped her.  She’s trying not to cry.  She’s waiting.

(She didn’t know then what she was waiting for, exactly.  What would happen, when the door opened.  Whether her mother would be angry, shout at her, demand to know how she could be so stupid, what she could possibly have been thinking, what had possessed her to do such a thing. She didn’t know what she’d say, whether she’d be able to tell the truth.  She didn’t even know her mother was her mother.  She called her _ma'am,_ and _you_ , in conversation.  She didn’t call her anything in thought, really, just– saw her.)

Kasumi stretches lazily in her arms– she’s getting sleepy – and readjusts herself, wrapping one arm around Emily’s neck, laying her head down on Emily’s chest, nuzzling her collarbone, not quite kissing.   Emily can feel her breath, warm and tingly, the warm sweet pressure and trusting weight of her girlfriend, can hear the voice of her human brother reading, at the same time she sees darkness, hears muffled gunfire and screaming.

She kisses Kasumi’s temple, where the fine black hair begins, and listens at the same time for the gritchy grating sound of a bobby pin inserted into a keyhole, probing delicately at the tumblers of the lock.

_Click._ The hinges creak.

The light dazzles her.

Then the memory’s over, and she’s just here, in the library.

She’s a little disappointed it ended before her mother smiled at her and called her _sweetheart_ , cut her hands free and took Emily (Ruby, Y4-15, her nameless not-yet-daughter) in her arms.

But this is good, too.  Emily’s at home with her family, and her mother’s with her stepfather and all her biggest, best-trained brothers, looking for the lost ones, the ones who don’t know her yet.  Probably nobody has locked V4-54 and X2-71 in a dark room, not literally, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need someone to come for them.  Someone to put strong arms around them, show them what it means to be loved.

She still isn’t really listening to what Dee’s reading– she can always steal the book after the sleepers are asleep and catch up on what she missed – until she hears the word _Deacon._

She isn’t the only one.  People stir.  No one comments, though.

Dee himself doesn’t pause or falter.  His smooth voice reads on:

“–and, being a childless widower, he was tended night and day by some of the younger brethren or sisters.  Silas frequently took his turn in the night-watching with William, the one relieving the other at two in the morning.  The old man, contrary to expectation, seemed to be on the way to recovery, when one night Silas, sitting up by his bedside, observed that his usual audible breathing had ceased.  The candle was burning low, and he had to lift it to see the patient’s face distinctly.  Examination convinced him that the deacon was dead– had been dead some time, for the limbs were rigid.”

Max’s low, slightly hoarse voice interrupts, “What’s a deacon?”

Dee hesitates for a second before he looks up at Max.  He isn’t wearing his sunglasses.  Emily likes how he looks without them.

Cog is already looking through the dictionary they keep handy when they’re reading.  He’s on vocabulary duty tonight.

“A member of the diaconate,” he reads, “an office in Christian churches that is generally associated with service of some kind, but which varies among theological and denominational traditions.  From the Greek, _diakonos_ , ‘servant,’ 'waiting-man,’ 'minister,’ or 'messenger.’”

Desdemona does something Emily hasn’t seen her do before.  She reaches out, and puts her hand over Dee’s where it rests on the page.

He looks at her, and she smiles at him, the smile that transforms her face, makes her look as young as Emily’s mother, as ready to open her arms or put up her fists, as full of love and hope and fight.

Dee smiles back, looking dazed.  Light-dazzled, like the memory-Emily on the floor, the moment when the door opens.

“Should I keep going?” he asks after a second.

“Yeah,” says Tom.

“Yeah,” echoes Max, and adds, “That old deacon might be dead, but you got plenty left in you, Jonah Dee.”

Dee smiles down at the page a moment before he resumes, “Silas asked himself if he had been asleep, and looked at the clock: it was already four in the morning. How was it that William had not come? In much anxiety he went to seek for help, and soon there were several friends assembled in the house, the minister among them–”

Kasumi is asleep.  Emily can tell from her breathing, and the weight of her.  Drifted away into dreams, leaving Emily to look after her sleeping, defenseless body. Just as her mother left her in charge: of her siblings, and the Castle, and the Commonwealth.  Left her to take care of them, make sure they don’t come to harm.  Make sure they stick together.  Like in the lullaby Mrs. Nakano sang, that Emily remembered, and sang to her mother, while her mother clung to her and wept.   _Find them and fold them deep, fold them to sleep._

At the end of the chapter, she’ll rouse Kasumi and Shaun and anyone else who’s drifted off by then, get them to their beds, get bedtime snacks and drinks of water and extra blankets and goodnight kisses for those who want them, tell them goodnight and sweet dreams, and that she loves them.

Then she’ll go to the top of the wall of her mother’s fortress, and pick out patterns in the stars, sending each one– the hunter, the seven sisters, the queen, the yao guai and its cub– a silent plea to look after her mother and her brothers, all of her family they can see and she can’t.

For now, though, she can see enough from where she sits, Kasumi in her arms.  Cog’s eyes are closed; Victoria’s are intent on Dee.  Max is watching him, too, with a soft, unguarded look on his face.  Tom’s cheek is resting on his hands, which rest on his knees.  Desdemona’s hand is on Dee’s arm now, laying there lightly, and Elizabeth has cozied up to his other side, her head on his shoulder.  Dee’s voice goes on, into the warm, well-lighted room: “…with the eyes of those who to him represented God’s people fixed solemnly upon him…”

Emily knows: they’re all, always, learning.  Themselves, each other.  Who they are.  How to love each other.  What to remember, and what to let go.

Emily remembers.  Who she is, who she’ll be, how she’ll manage.  Summons the memory on purpose this time, just a fragment, her mother’s love-wrung voice, _my sweet, brave girl._


	3. won't you meet me at the gates to the garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impulsive Halloween snippet that I wrote quickly, tonight, because I was suddenly in a Halloweeny kind of mood. Just Nora and the gang, at the Castle, Halloween night. 
> 
> Dee reading aloud again, because tbh I just want Deacon to read aloud to me all the time as I go about my business.

They can’t celebrate Halloween the way she remembers it, back in Sanctuary Hills, or before that, when she was a kid.  Dressing up in fancy store-bought costumes, based on TV and movie and radio superheroes: Grognak, the Silver Shroud, Mistress of Mystery.  Nora remembers going as a cat, a cowgirl, a witch, a hippie in thrift-store bell-bottom jeans and a peace sign painted on her cheek.  More nervous than excited, holding out a pillowcase or a pail for a neighbor to drop something into.  

She didn’t like how you weren’t supposed to say _please_.  _Trick or treat_ , as if you might do something bad to people who didn’t placate you with candy.  She didn’t like that idea as a kid.  Still doesn’t.

Now Shaun’s the only kid around of trick-or-treating age, and he’s not the type to enjoy filling a sack with sugary treats at others’ expense, anyway.  He’d rather run around distributing any available treats to his brothers and sisters, and the other settlers at the Castle.

He’s enough like Nora that he doesn’t much like the idea of disguises, either.  Monsters are too real, these days, to take pleasure in the dressing-up of someone dear and familiar as someone, or something, less so.  

And the dead are– well, Nora doesn’t believe in ghosts, not that way, not seasonally.  If Nate can be here with her, and if there isn’t a good reason why he shouldn’t be, then he’s here a lot more often than once a year.  

(She hopes he isn’t.  She hopes he’s with Shaun– their first Shaun– in heaven.  He believed in heaven, completely.  She’s about fifty-fifty.  But if there is one, Nate’s definitely there, and she can’t imagine whoever’s in charge wouldn’t let him have his son with him.)

This time of year, she thinks more about the war, the bombs falling.  Ghosts, kind of, but not the fun, spooky kind.

But this year they’ve carved jack-o-lanterns, out of gourds and winter melons, scooping out the seeds to roast with a little salt and a little oil, carving cheerful, jagged-toothed moon faces and setting candles inside.  She was just going to show Shaun how, but then everyone else wanted to join in too.  After tonight– after a night of bright faces all over the courtyard, grinning and spilling light– she’ll gather the gourds and melons and cook them, so the meat of them doesn’t go to waste.  

It’s Dee’s turn to read aloud tonight, and he’s picked Oscar Wilde’s “The Canterville Ghost.”  He’s reading outside instead of in the library, so they can all enjoy the jack-o-lanterns, for the little time they last.  The night’s cool, but not cold; her kids curl against each other, for warmth and for love.  Shaun sits in her lap. Hancock’s arm rests on her shoulders.  A real lantern, not a jack-o- one, lights the page, and Dee’s face, in that spooky, atmospheric campfire way.  Dee has such a great voice for reading.  It’s low and gravelly and dramatic as he reads,

"Right in front of him he saw, in the wan moonlight, an old man of terrible aspect. His eyes were as red burning coals; long grey hair fell over his shoulders in matted coils; his garments, which were of antique cut, were soiled and ragged, and from his wrists and ankles hung heavy manacles and rusty gyves.

”‘My dear sir,’ said Mr. Otis"– Dee’s voice switches registers, turns prim and nasal, so that everyone’s laughing even before he goes on– “'I really must insist on your oiling those chains, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely efficacious upon one application, and there are several testimonials to that effect on the wrapper. I shall leave it here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy to supply you with more, should you require it.’”

Dee switches back to the dramatic voice to continue, “For a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite motionless in natural indignation; then, dashing the bottle violently upon the polished floor, he fled down the corridor, uttering hollow groans, and emitting a ghastly green light. Just, however, as he reached the top of the great oak staircase, a door was flung open, two little white-robed figures appeared, and a large pillow whizzed past his head! There was evidently no time to be lost, so, hastily adopting the Fourth dimension of Space as a means of escape, he vanished through the wainscoting, leaned up against a moonbeam to recover his breath, and began to try and realize his position. Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of three hundred years, had he been so grossly insulted.”

Shaun is having a fit of the giggles in her lap, struggling to breathe.  Everyone’s laughing, as Dee keeps reading, about the family that just refuses to be scared.

“He laughed his most horrible laugh,” Dee reads, “till the old vaulted roof rang and rang again, but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a door opened, and Mrs. Otis came out in a light blue dressing-gown. 'I am afraid you are far from well,’ she said, 'and have brought you a bottle of Doctor Dobell’s tincture. If it is indigestion, you will find it a most excellent remedy.”

“Oh my God,” says Victoria, laughing.  “It’s Mom!”

Even Dee cracks up at that, and loses his place for a second.  Nora laughs, breathless with happiness, with her family around her, in the darkness that makes the flickering golden light so incredibly lovely.

The story takes a sadder, sweeter turn towards the end, when the daughter of the family befriends the ghost.  Dee’s voice goes soft, gentle, when he does her voice: 

“'I am so sorry for you,’ she said, 'but my brothers are going back to Eton to-morrow, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will annoy you.’

”'It is absurd asking me to behave myself,’ he answered, looking round in astonishment at the pretty little girl who had ventured to address him, 'quite absurd. I must rattle my chains, and groan through keyholes, and walk about at night, if that is what you mean. It is my only reason for existing.’

“'It is no reason at all for existing, and you know you have been very wicked.’”

“That sounds like Emily,” says Michael, and everyone laughs again, and the story stays funny for a bit, until Dee’s voice, his gruff rusty ghost-voice, changes:

“Far away beyond the pine-woods, there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold crystal moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers.

"Virginia’s eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.

”'You mean the Garden of Death,’ she whispered.

“'Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death’s house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is.’”

Nora’s eyes are stinging, now.  It’s Dee’s voice, the tenderness and the pain in it, the yearning.  

He reads on, and little Virginia bravely helps the wicked old ghost be laid to rest, and everyone lives– or dies– happily ever after, and everyone is quiet for a bit.  Shaun’s asleep, slumped on Nora’s arm and chest.

Nora’s heart is full, overflowing.   _He made me see what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both._

Max says, “Good stuff.  Good pick, Dee.”

Dee shuts the book, as everyone murmurs agreement, and says, “Thanks.  I thought, you know– I kinda forgot about all that heavy stuff, there at the end.”

Cog says, “It was funny.  It was good.”

“Thank you, Dee,” says Danse gravely.  

Dee waves them off.  “Yeah, OK.  Bedtime.  For people that sleep.  Look, 2.0’s already out.”

The night rustles and creaks with everyone’s rising, flashes as they move through light and dark.  

Nora stays still the longest, Shaun breathing in her lap.  Wondering, or imagining.

She isn’t afraid.  If they’re here, the beloved dead, called by her longing, or by the thinness of the veil tonight, then they belong here, just outside this circle, making the dark gentle for the living. 

And if they’re not–  _  
_

(Emily’s voice, remembered: _Sleep is a sweetness, so I hear it said.)_

Someday she’ll be with them, wherever they are.

But no hurry.

“Here, ma'am,” says Michael, reaching down.  “I’ll carry Shaun to bed.”

She shifts, lifts her smallest son towards her tallest, feels her husband’s hand on her back, as Michael lifts Shaun’s sleepy weight from her, as she begins to rise.


End file.
